


Blaine Anderson's Guide to (Accidental) Fame and Fortune

by DasWarSchonKaputt



Category: Glee
Genre: Famous Blaine, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-02-05 05:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1806559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasWarSchonKaputt/pseuds/DasWarSchonKaputt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine stumbles into fame and fortune with the same amount of grace that anyone stumbles into anything. That is to say, none at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's All Trent's Fault, Anyway

**Author's Note:**

> I have an unhealthy obsession with famous!blaine. It needs to stop. That is all.

There’s one thing Blaine would like to make perfectly clear: he never intended for any of this to happen.

It just _did._

And it’s all Trent’s fault, anyway.

* * *

**Rule One: Make A Splash**

_People always talk about opportunities falling into Blaine’s lap. Blaine would like to clarify that most of the time, he’s the one falling into other people’s laps._

* * *

 

The thing about the Warblers is – as Wes takes great pleasure in pointing out on a near daily basis – that they’re pretty much all unabashed Blaine-fanboys. Heck, half of Dalton treats Blaine like he’s the coolest new thing since liquid nitrogen.

He really is _all that._

It’s not like he actively tries to dissuade the hero-worship either – as far as he’s concerned, people can like what they want to like, and if that’s him, power to them – so maybe he kind of had it coming.

Still, going to sleep one night thoroughly mortified over a failed attempt at wooing a closeted Gap employee has nothing on waking up to discover that said failed attempt has been posted all over the internet.

“I am so, so, so sorry,” Trent repeats for like, the third time already, eyes wide. “I swear I had no idea my sister was going to post it online, Blaine.”

Part of Blaine wants to take Trent by the ear and show him the exact section of their ICT lesson notes that warns against this kind of thing, but that part is currently warring with the rest of him, which simply wants to curl up and _die._

Blaine fastens his tie-knot aggressively. “Don’t worry about it,” he grits out.

“Are you sure?” Trent asks uncertainly. “Because I talked to her about taking it down, but it’s kind of already gone viral, and—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Blaine repeats, but then his brain catches up. “Wait,” he says, turning abruptly on the spot, the rest of his uniform forgotten. “Did you just say _viral_?”

Trent laughs nervously.

* * *

 

What.

1,200,769 views.

1,200,769 views in just under three hours.

The video, neatly titled _Blazer Boy Serenades Valentine in Gap,_ already has over one million views and Blaine feels faint.

Because it’s not just his close friends in the Warblers who have witnessed his humiliation – it’s one million other _complete strangers._ And, fuck, you can see his face pretty clearly in the video, so there’s no playing this off as some other raven-haired show-choir soloist.

People start to stare at him in the hallways between classes – at least that’s what it feels like – and he keeps having to stop and check himself, thinking, _god have I spilt my lunch down my front or something?_

He’s used to the spotlight, but not like this.

Blaine briefly entertains the idea of a painless death, before he remembers that he has a lab report due after lunch.

* * *

 

**_From:_** _Coop_  
 **To:** Blaine  
Saw the video. Not bad, little bro, but you know how you could have improved it?

**_From:_** _Blaine_  
 **To:** Coop  
Cooper, not now.

**_From:_** _Coop_  
 **To:** Blaine  
You could have pointed ----> at him.

**_From:_** _Blaine_  
 **To:** Coop  
Cooper, seriously, not now.

* * *

 

Fuck the show choir blogs. Fuck ‘em all.

It took about three hours after the video went viral for _Mid-West Show Choir Official_ and _Show Choir National_ to come across it and stamp Blaine’s name and show choir all over every major social networking site – from Twitter to freakin’ _Myspace._ He even has a shiny new Wikipedia page. A _Wikipedia page._

Blaine got out of last period chem to discover that his name was trending all over the blogosphere – that someone had managed to track down the Warblers’ YouTube channel and had turned them into the fifteenth most subscribed to channel on the site. His Facebook has been inundated with friend requests, his Twitter following is through the roof and his school picture – the one he _never wanted anyone else to see ever_ – is _everywhere._

And, looking at the veritable storm of popularity, all Blaine can think is: _don’t these people have anything better to do?_

Wes and David – to no one’s surprise – find this entire ordeal hilarious. Blaine already has over twenty different new nicknames from them, all varying on the theme of _Superstar_ and _Loverboy_ and _Neo-Bieber,_ and they’re refusing to let it rest. Blaine can’t wait until the internet gets over the fact that his Valentine’s Day Humiliation is apparently so gripping as to be the latest ‘cool new thing’ to anybody with an Ethernet cable and a computer.

Blaine learns very quickly not to read the comments section – God, yes, people, he’s gay! He’s serenading a guy for crying out loud, how much more obvious do you need it to be?! – and gives up after his third time of trying to get Trent’s sister to take down the video.

Screw it all, he thinks as he collapses on his dorm bed that night. Face buried in his pillow, Blaine wonders if this week can possibly get any worse.

It gets worse.

* * *

 

Being a student at boarding school is normally a pretty good indicator of having absent parents and Blaine’s case is no exception to this rule. Claire and Johnathon Anderson are affectionate – and, at times, supportive – but distant. They call once a week, always making sure to ask after his grades and friends, talk a bit about their work, then hang up and go do whatever else.

Which is why it doesn’t surprise Blaine one bit that neither his mother nor his father are aware of the trivial fact that their son has recently become an unwilling internet celebrity. It’s not like they have Blaine’s name on Google Alerts, or anything, and it’s not like they interact with anyone who’s likely to have seen the video, so Blaine is in the clear as far as that’s concerned.

In all honesty, though, Blaine’s not at all certain how they would react to the news. Fame and fortune were never even on the radar for Blaine, especially not after his older brother cut out on the family to go an make his mark on Los Angeles, only coming home when he needed more money. Blaine’s plan was always graduation, Ivy League, and then inheriting the family business from his father when the time is right.

It’s the plan for Blaine. Ever since Cooper decided he was going to become an actor, it’s been the only plan for Blaine.

And Blaine is kind of okay with that.

There really is only one problem with the fact that his parents don’t know that Blaine’s view count is right up there with _Charlie Bit My Finger_ on the logarithmic scale of YouTube sensationalism and that is that said parents won’t just accept Blaine’s feeble excuse when he tells them that he doesn’t feel up to playing Happy Families at the big charity benefit that they’re attending on Friday night.

And so Blaine ends up dressed in a suit worth more than his life, hair gelled severely into submission, and wondering just how offensive the other guests would find it if he pulled out his phone and started to text Wes.

He spends the majority of the evening silent at their table, only joining in with conversation when directly spoken to, or when one of his parents starts to casually drop his achievements into the flow of discourse – _Blaine here has a 4.0 GPA, and he’s on the Dalton fencing team. Well, yes, of course we’re proud. He takes after his father, doesn’t he?_ – and the pitiful remainder of it turning down invitations from girls his age to dance.

It takes about half an hour for his parents to clue in on the fact that something’s not quite right in the world of Blaine. After that, Blaine’s father spends some time frowning at him and his mother keeps shooting him weird looks. Blaine just sighs. He doesn’t really feel like performing in any form tonight.

“Blaine,” Claire Anderson eventually says, and Blaine waits for it, prepares his response – _I’m fine, Mom, just tired_ – but the expected question never comes. “Why don’t you go dance?”

Okay. Message received. His moping is kind of cramping their style.

Blaine forces a smile to his face, knowing all the while that it must come out like a grimace. “I’m actually not feeling to great, Mom,” he says. “I think I’m going to go and get some water from the bar. Can I get you anything?”

Claire just waves him off casually, and once more, Blaine gets the message. Right. Dismissed.

Blaine pushes back his chair and pushes himself to his feet, stumbling slightly. He chances one last look back at his mother – who has already turned back to her conversation with one of the other trophy wives – before he turns around and makes his way in the direction of the bar.

Now, Blaine’s actually pretty coordinated. He’s on Dalton’s fencing team, after all, and it’s kind of fatal if you end up falling off the platform in the middle of a match. The thing which most people don’t know is that his coordination is _learned._ It doesn’t come naturally to him.

So when he’s not paying attention to what his feet are doing, well, things tend to happen that end with Blaine face-down on the ground, a bruise the size of an egg on his head, and a bout of laughter from any eye-witnesses that makes him flush bright red through the pain.

And right then, Blaine isn’t paying attention to what his feet are doing.

Which is how he ends up tripping over a pair of out-stretched feet and face-planting straight into someone’s lap.

It takes all of ten seconds – ten _long, awkward_ seconds – for him to realise what has happened and push himself up and out of the other person’s lap. Blaine can feel his face heating up and the tips of his ears going pink as he blurts out an apology of half-formed incoherent sounds. _Please don’t be one of Dad’s clients, please don’t be one of Dad’s clients, please don’t be—_

The man in front of Blaine – somehow, it being a man just makes this all so much _worse_ – is very well put-together. What Blaine means is, sure, that’s kind of a prerequisite for these types of events, but there’s something very _polished_ about the man in front of him, who’s raising a challenging eyebrow as Blaine mumbles his way through his apology.

Blaine gets the distinct impression that he secretly finds this hilarious.

The good news, though, is that this isn’t one of Blaine’s father’s clients. Blaine doesn’t actually know who this man is.

The bad news is…

Well, the man knows _exactly_ who Blaine is.

“Wait a second,” the man interrupts Blaine half-way through his thirteenth ‘sorry’.

Blaine closes his eyes and _prays._

“Are you Blaine Anderson?”

_Screw you, God._

Blaine forces himself to smile. “Yes,” he says, already cringing in anticipation of where this conversation is heading.

“I’m Jesse St James,” the man introduces himself, smiling wildly. “Do you have a minute to talk?”

“Look,” Blaine says, previous attempts at an apology forgotten, “if this is to do with the YouTube video, I’d really rather not talk about it, okay? The whole thing is _really_ embarrassing for me and I’m—”

“It’s not about the video,” Jesse interrupts quickly, but pauses. “Well, I guess _technically,_ it is, but I think you’re going to want to listen anyway.”

Blaine raises his eyebrows doubtfully, but allows himself to be guided over to a free chair at Jesse’s table.

“I have…” Jesse pauses, as if considering the best way to phrase the next part of his speech. “A business proposition for you.”

Given that Blaine has had his face in this man’s crotch, he _really_ doesn’t like where this seems to be going.

“So, Blaine Anderson,” Jesse says, leaning back in his chair, “what would you do if I told you I thought you were going to be the next big thing?”

Jesse must spot the look on Blaine’s face, because he adds, “Hypothetically of course.”


	2. Not A No (Yet)

“I have…” Jesse pauses, as if considering the best way to phrase the next part of his speech. “A business proposition for you.”

Given that Blaine has had his face in this man’s crotch, he _really_ doesn’t like where this seems to be going.

“So, Blaine Anderson,” Jesse says, leaning back in his chair, “what would you do if I told you I thought you were going to be the next big thing?”

Jesse must spot the look on Blaine’s face, because he adds, “Hypothetically of course.”

* * *

 

**Rule Two: Go All In**

_Going all in is a phenomenally good route to either a sweeping victory or a crushing defeat. The only problem is, well, Blaine has always sucked at poker._

* * *

“You did _what_?”

It’s been three days since Blaine attended the benefit with his parents. Three days since Jesse St. James offered to change his life. Three days since—

“I said no,” Blaine repeats, massaging his temples.

Wes and David crashed into his room ten minutes ago, demanding to know who had knotted his underwear – “So you going to tell us who pissed in your cornflakes, or what?” was Wes’s chosen interrogatory phrase – and have spent the time since listening as Blaine filled them in on what happened at the fundraiser.

They’re decidedly – and admittedly unsurprisingly – unsympathetic to his cause.

Wes and David share a brief look before Wes reaches out and unceremoniously clouts Blaine around the ear.

“Ow!” Blaine cries, hand flying to his ear. “What the hell, guys?”

“You’re an idiot,” David tells Blaine flatly. “A real, honest-to-God idiot.”

“Yeah,” Wes joins in. “All you’ve wanted to do – all you’ve _ever_ wanted to do, Blaine – is perform. Ask anyone of us and we all know that you’re happiest when you’re belting out a song, or jumping all over the furniture, or just in front of an audience in general.”

“And then this St. James guy,” David continues on seamlessly, “ _rocks_ up to you at a party, offers you all your hopes and dreams on a silver platter – served with a garnish of _jus d’argent_ probably – and what do you do?”

“You say no,” Wes finishes.

Blaine feels a headache coming on. It’s much more complicated than that, and he kind of just wants Wes and David to just _drop it._

It’s a futile wish, Blaine knows, though. Wes and David _never_ drop anything when he asks them. It’s actually the only reason they’re friends, now that Blaine thinks about it. If not for their combined persistence, then Blaine would have most likely settled into his life at Dalton as a hermit and never looked back.

“It was my choice to make,” Blaine says, trying to imbue his tone with some kind of affronted quality and hide just how _tired_ he is, “and you guys should respect that.”

Wes and David share another look, before they both sigh in unison.

“I respect your choice, Blaine, I really do,” Wes says softly. “I just want to make sure that you’re making your decisions for the right reasons.”

Blaine raises an eyebrow. “The wrong reasons being?”

“What you think your father wants,” David answers without hesitation. “Blaine, you’re seventeen years old; you’ve got to start living your own life.”

Blaine closes his eyes and exhales.

Whilst it’s true that he loves performing – can see himself doing it for a lifetime and never growing tired of it – it’s simply just not a viable option for Blaine. Even ignoring the risky nature of a career in performing, and casting aside Blaine’s own witness accounts as to exactly _why_ it’s a bad idea, there are plans in place for Blaine’s life which don’t mesh with a career in the arts.

High school. Ivy league. Anderson Energy.

They’re _Blaine’s_ plans. He’s _satisfied_ with them.

He doesn’t want the other type of future for himself. Endless auditions, non-existent success, barely making rent each month – Cooper’s life isn’t something Blaine envies in the slightest. If avoiding that requires him to sacrifice the part of him that’s tearing him apart inside to say yes – take the risk, give it your all, stop trying to play it safe – then Blaine thinks he can deal with that.

Blaine has always been terrified to his very core by the prospect of failure.

 _Coward,_ the screaming part of him whispers. Blaine ignores it.

So he shrugs, fiddles with the cuff of his shirt and says, “I am living my own life, guys.”

Wes and David share one more look, but finally let it go.

* * *

Things have mostly calmed down on the internet by the time that Blaine heads home the next week. His Twitter following – while still at a stupendous level – has somewhat tempered off, settling at around five-hundred. And, sure, the video’s still _everywhere,_ but people aren’t talking about it as much; YouTube has since moved on to the latest video of a cat dancing to Lady Gaga while dressed up like Stalin.

Blaine’s fifteen minutes of fame are up, and it feels more like a relief than anything else.

The reprieve doesn’t last long.

Everything starts to fall apart once more almost the second Blaine opens his front door and sees his brother’s grinning face and shamelessly bare chest.

“Hey Blainey,” Cooper says.

Blaine bites back on a groan.

Frosty is probably the only accurate descriptor for Blaine’s relationship with his older brother, Cooper. It makes for some awkward Christmases and Thanksgivings – cool glares above roast potatoes and judgemental eyebrows raises across the living room.

Blaine looks at Cooper and sees his father’s perfect son – smart, charismatic, handsome – and everything that he’s always going to have to try and be. He sees someone for whom their father’s love has always been unconditional, who can screw up again and again and still come home, and then Blaine looks in the mirror and sees his father’s face when he got a B in history back at North Westerville High. He looks at Cooper and sees everything he’s never let himself want.

It’s easy to resent Cooper. _Cooper_ makes it easy to resent Cooper.

“Hey Coop,” Blaine sighs, as Cooper brushes past him and ruffles his hair.

“Where are Mom and Dad?” Cooper asks, glancing around the empty hall. He’s got a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and has yet to let up on his face-splitting smile.

“They’re—” Blaine starts, but cuts himself off when his father wanders into the hall.

The change in Johnathon Anderson’s face is immediate. The moment he spots Cooper, his mouth twists upwards and he stretches his arms out so that Cooper can crush him into a hug.

Blaine looks away.

* * *

Blaine spends the first half hour of dinner trying to bend his cutlery out of shape and biting down on his tongue. He doesn’t know why, but being with Cooper always feels like some sort of competition, and he hates the way his stomach twists as Cooper relays his latest crazy audition story.

Dad’s laughing. Dad never laughs like this.

Normally, Blaine supposes, he would at least make an effort not to appear like he hates his brother – which he doesn’t, if anyone were wondering, and the fact that he loves Cooper somehow makes their whole relationship feel that much more poisonous – but he’s not trying tonight. Blaine feels worn, exhausted, and he can’t see the point in fighting the inevitable end to his estranged relationship with his brother.

And that – of course – is when Johnathon Anderson turns to ask Blaine about school. Blaine forces the tired look out of his eyes and the same old smile – always a smile – onto his face.

“It’s going well,” he says neutrally. “I placed second in the year on my physics investigation.”

“That’s great sweetie,” his mom says and, much like everything these days, it sounds like a dismissal.

“Oh but Blaine,” Cooper pipes up from across the table. “Don’t you know? There’s _no_ second place in business.”

It’s said jovially. A joke. Blaine’s dad even laughs. Again.

But to Blaine it’s the tipping point.

He’s always said he’s okay with taking over the business. Cooper’s not going to do it, so the job lands on him, and that’s okay. Cooper gets to pursue his dreams, shoot for the stars ( _and miss,_ Blaine adds bitterly) and Blaine gets to look forward to a future of stiff suits and stifling boardroom meetings.

He’s okay with that. He can accept that. He’s taking one for the team.

But Cooper’s remark just feels like he’s rubbing the entire situation right in his younger brother’s face.

Blaine drops his knife and fork loudly on the table. “Excuse me,” he says, voice stilted with forced politeness.

He leaves the room.

* * *

“What was that about?”

Blaine looks up from his sheet music – the latest a cappella masterpiece he’s working on for the Warblers – to see his father leant against his doorframe. Blaine slams his file shut and rolls over on his bed.

“It’s—nothing, Dad,” he deflects.

Johnathon rolls his eyes as he pushes off the doorframe and settles down on the edge of Blaine’s bed. “I thought I taught you to lie better than that, Blaine,” he tells his son wryly.

Blaine shrugs. “PMS?” he tries, and that gets a laugh.

“If it were PMS,” Johnathon says, “we’d be having an _entirely_ different conversation. Don’t make me get your mother, Blaine, ‘fess up.”

Blaine raises his eyebrows. “Have you been reading _Seventeen Magazine,_ again, Dad?” he asks. “When was the last time _anyone_ ever said _‘fess up_?”

Johnathon sighs, placing a hand on Blaine’s shoulder. “While your deflection work is much better than your lying,” he says softly, “it’s still not working.”

Blaine shifts uncomfortably and shrinks out of his father’s grip. “Can’t you just drop it, Dad?”

“Kid,” Johnathon says, “ _just dropping it_ isn’t in my nature.” He sighs and leans back on the wall that Blaine’s bed is pushed up against. “Is this about the guy who turned you down on Valentines?” he asks.

All the colour drains from Blaine’s face. “You heard about that?” he asks, throat dry.

“Cooper sent me the video almost the second he found it,” Johnathon informs him with a shrug. “You’re very talented, Blaine. That kid doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.”

“He’s not a kid, Dad,” Blaine says. “He’s older than me.”

“He’s also blind, an idiot, and being mocked across the internet for not jumping you there and then,” Johnathon replies with a shrug. “Mortifying as I’m sure you find the whole ordeal, Blaine, no one’s laughing at you. Your song choice, maybe, but not you.”

Blaine feels something catch in his throat. “Dad,” he starts, “do you—do you have a problem with me being—with me liking boys?”

From the way that his father stills at the question, Blaine knows that he’s asked an uncomfortable question. “Forget it, Dad,” he says. “It was stupid of me to—”

“I’ll admit that it was a shock,” Johnathon cuts in. “The first time I found out about your sexuality, Blaine, though, I was in a hospital waiting room, having driven for four hours to come see you, wondering whether or not I was going to see my son alive again.”

The reference to Sadie Hawkins hits Blaine like a punch in the gut. Voice small and swallowing around the lump in his throat, Blaine says, “I told you about the dance _weeks_ before that, Dad.”

“Yeah,” Johnathon agrees easily. “I also spent those weeks thinking that _Taylor_ was a girl.”

“You _met_ Taylor,” Blaine states dumbly.

“It’s a common name!” Johnathon protests, looking – dare Blaine say it – somewhat embarrassed.

Blaine can’t help it; he smiles. It doesn’t last long, though, and the expression drops off his face with the next question. “What about rebuilding the car?” he asks.

Getting home from the hospital to see his dad holding a pair of coveralls in one hand and a toolbox in the other had made Blaine’s gut churn and every fibre in his body _itch._ When his dad had grinned, teeth perfectly white, and said, “C’mon, real men get their hands dirty,” all Blaine had been able to hear was, _C’mon straight men get their hands dirty._

“Your therapist said that we should keep you busy,” Johnathon answers. “To stop you from … you know, thinking about it. My father and I did the same thing one summer, so I thought we could give it a try.”

That’s just it, though, Blaine thinks. It hadn’t felt like _giving it a try._ It had felt like some sort of new, pre-approved conversion routine.

“It felt like you were trying to make me straight,” Blaine admits carefully.

Johnathon stills. “Oh.” He sounds strangled. “Blaine, I want you to know that your mother and I love you and Cooper no matter what,” he tells Blaine, his voice fluctuating up and down in pitch, but strong and sincere. “It’s kind of how this whole parenting malarkey is supposed to work. If that means loving a you that serenades guys in clothing stores, then that’s what we’ll do.”

“So it doesn’t—bother you?”

Johnathon smiles. “No,” he answers resolutely. “Not even a little bit.”

Blaine inhales through his nose. “We should do this more often,” he says, rubbing the fabric of his shirt between his fingers. “Talking about stuff.”

Johnathon laughs. “That sounds like a plan,” he agrees. “Now do you want to come downstairs? Your mother bought _tarte tatin_ for dessert.”

As his father moves to leave, Blaine pauses on the bed. “At the party last week,” he says, “someone offered me a record deal. That’s what I’m so messed up about.”

Johnathon pauses on his feet. “Okay,” he says. It’s not the reaction Blaine is expecting.

Blaine pushes further. “I didn’t say no.”

“Okay.”

“I want to take it.”

Blaine’s dad ruffles his hair. “Okay.”

And that’s that.

* * *

 

_“Look, Mr St. James, was it?” Blaine says, unable to keep his eyes from flickering over to his parents. “I’m—not sure what you mean.”_

_Jesse digs in his suit jacket and retrieves a shiny business card. “I’m talent scouting you,” he explains as he hands it over. “I want to get you a record deal.”_

_Blaine looks down at the business card._ Jesse St. James, _he reads._ Talent Scout, Deadbeat Records. _Blaine’s never heard of them._

_“We’re a pretty new company,” Jesse answers Blaine’s unasked question. “But we have a lot of capital and a lot of resources.”_

_Blaine feels something lodge itself in his throat. “Why?” he chokes out. “Why me?”_

_Jesse shrugs. “I see a lot of myself in you,” he says, “and I think that you’re really it.”_

_“Really what?”_

_“The real deal,” Jesse says, shrugging again. “So what do you say?”_

_Blaine looks over once more to his parents, chatting harmlessly with some potential investors/clients/country club friends. “I’ll—” he breaks off. “I’ll think about it.”_

_Jesse grins. “That’s not a no.”_

_“It’s not a yes,” Blaine replies._

_Jesse’s grin spreads wider. “Oh, but it’s not a no.”_

_“No,” Blaine agrees. “It’s not.”_


	3. This Is Really Bizarre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be in bed.

There are conditions; _of course_ there are conditions.

No sex or drugs – regardless of the amount of rock ‘n’ roll he is injecting his life with – and whether he likes it or not, Blaine’s going to be graduating high school. It doesn’t matter if he has to complete the remainder of his school career by correspondence, but Blaine _will_ be getting a diploma, even if he ends up making more money per headshot than his father makes in a year.

When Blaine looks at the list of them that he’s written out, they don’t look all that different from the rules he’s been dealing with pretty much his entire life.

* * *

 

**Rule Three: Stick to Your Guns**

_There’s something to be said for stubbornness, even in the face of defeat, but it’s something that can’t be said about Blaine. He’s just not wired that way. Kurt Hummel, however, is._

* * *

It’s three days after talking everything through with his parents – planning for every possibility, creating exit-strategies and, _Blaine, are you sure this is what you want?_ – that Blaine finally digs through his suit pockets and finds Jesse St. James’ business card. By the time he has actually worked up the nerve to dial the number listed there, the card is dog-eared beyond belief and Blaine’s hands are caked in a thin layer of sweat.

Jesse answers the call with a cordial, “This is St. James.”

Blaine opens his mouth to return the greeting, but is cut off by the sound of someone screaming on Jesse’s side of the phone. He nearly drops the phone in surprise.

“Ugh, sorry,” Jesse explains quickly, and Blaine can hear him moving on the other end, probably look for somewhere quieter to talk. “I’m out with some friends. They can be a bit—loud.”

Blaine hears a harsh female voice shout, “We’re not friends, St. Sucks!” but chooses not to comment on it.

“So, you were calling me?”

Blaine feels a lump rise in his throat, suddenly wondering if this is a mistake. “Um,” he starts, which all things considered, is marginally better than nothing. “I can call you back if I’m interrupting anything.”

Jesse is quick to wave him off. “I was just catching up with some frie—oh Jesus Christ, _fine,_ Santana, _acquaintances_ from high school.”

Blaine feels like he’s missing a joke. “Oh,” he says. “Okay. Well, I was, uh…”

“Wait,” Jesse says, “who is this again?”

“Uh, Blaine Anderson?” Blaine wants to hit his head against a wall when he says his name like a question. Just – God, it’s not like he hasn’t had the same one for the past seventeen years, or anything. “You gave me your business card at the Young Women’s Education Charity Fundraiser.”

“Oh, Blaine Anderson. Right, gotcha. Could you just, uh, one moment please?” There’s further shuffling on the other end of the phone and the sound of some muffled giggles.

“Look,” Blaine says, feeling the heat of embarrassment rising on his cheeks. “If you just gave me your card as some kind of drunken mistake, I can just hang up and pretend this never happened, okay?”

The idea mortifies Blaine – mortifies him even more than _Blazer Boy Serenades Valentine in Gap_ going viral – that this could all have just been some _mix-up,_ makes Blaine feel like the worst kind of fool. It’s oh-so-deliciously ironic, as well, because he’s always _assuming_ things, and it’s always getting him into trouble. It’s the same character flaw that drove him towards his disastrous Valentines’ plans, and Blaine is beginning to wonder if he’s ever going to learn—

“Oh, God, no, that wasn’t a mistake,” come Jesse’s rushed reassurances over the phone. “I don’t make mistakes – shut _up_ , Kurt, I can _hear_ your eyebrows raising – and I’ve been waiting on your call. It’s just—”

Blaine feels relief balloon within him. “This is kind of a bad time?”

“Somewhat,” Jesse concedes. “I haven’t seen these people for a few months, and they’re—” Jesse winces, “—a bit wild.”

“Do you want to call me back tomorrow?” Blaine asks.

“You know what?” Jesse replies. “No. How do you feel about meeting for coffee? The Lima Bean? Tomorrow, 2:40-ish?”

“Sure,” Blaine starts to say, but abruptly realises that Jesse has already hung up.

* * *

 

Blaine’s always been the type to face his fear down with false confidence and well-faked courage. Behind all that, though, there’s always Blaine, the _real_ Blaine, twitching in his blazer and fiddling with the ends of his sleeves.

He arrives at the Lima Bean twenty minutes early and proceeds to spend those minutes flattening his hair a total of seven times, calling his father for reassurance three times, and debating changing his coffee order to something more exciting twice. By the time Jesse arrives, sweeping into the coffee shop in a combination of perfect hair and designer suit that has the barista on duty practically _swooning_ into the cappuccino machine, Blaine has worked himself up into a state of near frenzy.

Jesse orders his drink – a chai latte, and yeah, Blaine is judging him just a little bit for that – before he spots Blaine and grins.

Blaine’s nervousness evaporates.

As Jesse saunters over to the seat opposite Blaine, Blaine realises that this is just another type of performance. And Blaine can do performances. He’s _good_ at that.

“Sorry about last night,” Jesse excuses himself. “Show choir kids – you know how it is.”

Blaine nods genially. “You wanted to talk?” he prompts.

Jesse’s teeth glint in the bright overhead lighting of the café. “My previous offer remains. I take it you’ve given it some more thought?”

“Yeah,” Blaine says. “I’m in.”

* * *

Blaine closes his eyes, leaning his head back against his seat and trying to drown out the sound of the crying baby three rows back. He can’t help but feel that this is all really, really surreal. _Really surreal._

This sort of thing just _doesn’t happen_ to people like Blaine, he thinks. This sort of thing just doesn’t happen, _full-stop._ It’s the sort of one in a million story that is heralded as a real-life fairy tale by the media, and Blaine isn’t sure how he feels about being Cinderella in all of this.

Blaine forces his eyes open and twists his head slightly to see Jesse St. James beside him, busily typing on his laptop. He hits a couple more keys, then shuts the laptop, turning to face Blaine.

“I know your audition isn’t until tomorrow,” Jesse says, “but do you want to talk strategy?”

Blaine feels his eyebrows knit together. “Strategy?” he asks. “What, you mean like ‘be myself’?”

Jesse’s eyes widen. “Oh lord no,” he refutes quickly. “Anything but that. The thing about this audition, Blaine, is that we’re not selling _you_ to the record label, we’re selling a … product.”

“A product,” Blaine echoes.

Jesse nods. “An image – something that they can market. You need to be original, yes, but you have to be someone that people are going to want to buy into, and, no offence, but a seventeen year-old prep-school kid isn’t exactly what people _want._ ”

Blaine raises his eyebrows. “What do people want, then?”

“They want _drama,_ ” Jesse says. “They want a sob-story, something that’ll make all of this into the perfect fairy tale. They want _spurned lover_ , they want _rough childhood,_ they want _unhappy family life._ But, most importantly,” Jesse turns to Blaine dramatically, “they don’t want to be challenged.”

“Meaning?” Blaine prompts.

Jesse sighs. “They want funny, not witty. They want jeans and hoodies, not bowties and sweater-vests. They want straight, not gay.”

Blaine draws his features into a doubtful expression. “I’m not entirely certain that what they want is me.”

Jesse shrugs. “Pink said it best,” he says. “ _You’ll be a popstar. All you have to change, is everything you are._ ”

Blaine’s not entirely sure that Jesse has actually grasped the message of that song.

* * *

 

It’s been growing on Blaine ever since he agreed to do this, but right now, he’s pretty certain.

This isn’t a good idea.

His father’s voice replays in his mind: _if something seems too good to be true, Blaine, then it probably is._

After they landed, Jesse had stopped by The Gap to pick up some _normal_ clothes for Blaine, consisting of a pair of ratty jeans, a T-shirt with a half-hearted slogan scrawled across it and a pair of shiny white sneakers. This is what Blaine’s wearing now, and he just feels _wrong._

He has instructions from Jesse to sing something mainstream and pop – not to try and wow the producers with an impressive range in music tastes – which is fine, because it’s what he does with the Warblers anyway, but it – all of it – feels like a lie.

There’s no gel in Blaine’s hair and try as he might, he can’t get his smile to look right. It’s stupid – here he is, in the bathroom at Deadbeat Records HQ, freaking out because he can’t make the correct facial expressions – and more than a bit pathetic.

The thing is, Blaine can’t just back out now. He’s in this – and he meant it when he told Jesse that he was in – but he’s not entirely sure he’ll be able to live with himself if he walks into that audition room wearing someone else’s skin.

“Um, I don’t want to intrude,” comes a voice from beside Blaine, “but are you alright?”

Blaine leans his forehead against the mirror, eyes closed, wondering if this can get any worse. “I’m fine,” he says, but even to him, his voice sounds pained.

“No offence,” the voice says, “but you really don’t look fine. Do you want me to go and get someone?”

Blaine pushes off the mirror. “No,” he says, sighing. “It’s stupid.”

As he looks up, he catches sight of his Good Samaritan and then blinks, convinced he’s seeing things. Stood behind Blaine is a teenager around his age, but one heck of a lot taller. High cheekbones mark the boy’s face, and there’s a gentle curiosity to his blue-green eyes.

“If it’s bothering you, it’s clearly not stupid to you,” the stranger tells Blaine, rolling his eyes slightly. “Want to talk about it?”

Blaine opens his mouth to say no, then closes it. Then opens it again. “Do you think it’s ever okay to compromise yourself for success?”

The stranger narrows his eyes. “It depends, I suppose,” he says eventually. “Why do you ask?”

 _Because I feel like I’m suffocating in these clothes._ The words are on the tip of Blaine’s tongue, but he doesn’t say them. Doesn’t need to, because the stranger rakes his eyes up and down Blaine’s form and then nods.

“Ah,” he says. “I get it. Audition?” At Blaine’s nod, he smiles. “Nervous?”

“Terrified,” Blaine admits. “Which, is stupid, I mean, I didn’t even _ask_ for this to happen to me and here I am freaking out—”

“Hey, hey, hey, calm down,” the stranger says. “I’m sure you’re going to be great.”

“But it’s not going to be _me._ ” The words are out of Blaine’s mouth before he can stop them, and he surprises himself at the panic in his tone. “This isn’t _me._ I’m not jeans and leather jackets and shiny sneakers. This isn't _me._ ”

The chestnut haired stranger tilts his head at Blaine, like he’s not sure what to make of him at all. “What is _you_ then?”

Blaine turns away from the mirror. “Too much hair gel,” he says, “and colourful pants, and dress shoes…” Blaine looks over at the stranger again, and takes in his well-coordinated outfit. “Kind of what you’re wearing.”

The stranger looks at him intently, tilting his head again, and then slips off his satchel, dumping it on the smooth surface by the sink. Blaine’s eyes go wide as he starts to unbutton his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Blaine demands, panic in his tone for an entirely different reason now.

The guy’s shirt hits Blaine straight in the face.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” the now shirtless stranger asks. “I’m trading clothes with a random guy I’ve just met so that he doesn’t blow his audition.”

Blaine dumbly pulls the shirt off his face. “This is really bizarre,” he states, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He does strip off his T-shirt, though, just in time to catch the pair of pants that are lobbed at him.

Dressed solely in his underwear – and Blaine is _not_ looking, thank you very much, he’s very determinedly _not_ looking – the stranger shrugs. “Got a name for me to look out for?” he asks. “You know, when you make it big.”

Blaine throws his jeans at the guy. “Blaine Anderson,” he says. “You know, so you can brag to all your friends about the weird kid in the bathroom at Deadbeat Records.”

The stranger pulls the jeans on quickly. “Kurt Hummel,” he replies. “You know, so you can thank me in your Grammy acceptance speech.”

Wearing clothes that aren’t his, barefoot in a public restroom, Blaine smiles his first real smile of the day.

* * *

 

Blaine takes a seat at the piano in the audition room, pointedly ignoring the _what the hell_ looks Jesse is shooting him.

“Hi,” he says. “I’m Blaine Anderson, and today I’m going to sing Katy Perry’s Teenage Dream for you.”

Blaine returns Jesse’s look with an innocent shrug as he starts to play the intro of the song. _What?_ his eyes ask. _It’s ‘mainstream and pop.’_


	4. The Trouble With Baseball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warnings for: talk about Sadie Hawkins, shoddy writing (I'm sorry)**

_"And now, for Blaine Anderson’s smash-hit debut single,_ Sixty Second Heartbreak—”

Click.

_“—Was spotted enjoying a candle-lit dinner with none other than singing sensation, Blaine Anderson—”_

Click.

_“—And it’s Blaine Anderson, on his fifth week at number one – can he make it to six?”_

* * *

 

**Rule Four: Be Careful With Words**

_In the past three months, Blaine has embarrassed himself on national television a total of seven times, forgotten his own lyrics three times, and inadvertently started a fashion craze once. All in all, he feels like he could be doing a lot worse at this whole fame thing._

* * *

 

“Good afternoon folks!” the radio host – _Scott_ , _his name is Scott, Blaine_ – crows into his microphone, grinning maniacally as he does so. “Today I’m joined on air by Blaine Anderson, the phenomenal new artist behind _Sixty Second Heartbreak_ , his fantastic debut single. Blaine, it’s great to have you with us.”

Blaine smiles politely back – _always smile, Blaine; you can hear it in your voice_ – and nods. “It’s great to be here, Scott,” he replies.

“So,” Scott says. “I suppose the first order of the day must be congratulations. _Sixty Second Heartbreak_ is currently on its sixth week at number one – how does that feel?”

“Pretty awesome, if I’m honest,” Blaine says.

“Your next single is being released soon – _No Smoking Please_ – and I’ve just heard a demo, and man, that’s an awesome tune.”

Blaine flashes another polite smile. “Thank you.”

Scott nods, the movement final, and swiftly moves the conversation on. “So, you’re what? Seventeen? How long have you been writing songs?”

“I started writing music after I was hospitalised when I was fourteen,” Blaine answers. “It was a way to pass the time, but I got a lot of talk at the time about using it as a recovery method, so I kept it up afterwards. I had to stop recently, though – school work was getting too much.”

“When did you write _Sixty Second Heartbreak_? Did you have any inspiration?”

Blaine shakes his head. “If that’s your way of asking if I’m in a relationship, then it’s about as subtle as a brick,” he laughs. “The answer is no, though. It was just a song.”

“And here I was hoping for an exclusive,” Scott says, shaking his head. “That’s all we have time for today, though, folks. Make sure to download Blaine Anderson’s new single, _No Smoking Please,_ when it comes out, next Monday!”

There’s an audible click, and Blaine watches as the light announcing the microphones being on is turned off. He sighs.

It’s over.

* * *

 

 **blaineslayin** BLAINE WAS JUST ON OHIO CENTRAL RADIO OMFG HOW IS IT POSSIBLE TO BE SO SASSY AND SO FUCKING ADORABLE ALL AT ONCE

 **sixtysecondstobreakmyheart** I’m calling it right now: ritual sacrifice.

 **the-token-minority** I’m pretty sure it’s just genetics. #unfair

 **blaineslayin** Holy shit did TKM just reply to my post??!?!?!?? EXCUSE ME WHILE I DIE

* * *

 

“ _So I heard you on OCR_ ,” is how Wes greets Blaine when he calls. “ _You sounded good_.”

Blaine groans, falling backwards onto his hotel bed. “The song or the interview?” he asks.

“ _Both, Blaine, both_ ,” Wes says. “ _Stop freaking out. You’re doing fine._ ”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Blaine points out. “If I screw up, the whole nation is now witness to my mistakes. If _you_ screw up—”

“ _I lose all chances I have at a decent college education?_ ” Wes completes.

“I was going to say a couple of show choir blogs make a few posts about it,” Blaine corrects contritely, “but sure, make this all about you.”

Wes laughs. “ _I think we all know that the power of show choir blogs is not to be underestimated, Mr Pop Sensation_.”

“Shut up.”

“ _So what do teen idols get up to when promoting their new album?_ ” Wes asks lightly.

Blaine rolls over onto his stomach. “Rack up frequent flyer miles, mostly,” he says. “Sometimes I do homework, and a lot of the time, I miss out on vital hours of sleep.”

“ _Ooh, you rebel,”_ Wes teases. “ _Guzzling fossil fuels and staying up past bedtime to work on calculus. Bieber better watch out – there’s a new kid on the block, spiralling out of control._ ”

“One time, I even ordered an R-rated movie on pay-per-view,” Blaine adds.

“ _Now you’re pushing it, Wild Child,_ ” Wes says, and _huh,_ Jesse may have a point. Blaine _can_ hear the smile in his voice. “ _David’s been collecting videos of your interviews on YouTube. We make a habit of watching them during Warbler practices._ ”

“Oh God.”

Wes hums. “ _We spent a good twenty minutes unable to sing anything because we were laughing so hard when you tripped over on_ The Tonight Show _,_ ” he says. “ _Jeff set it as his new desktop background. Trent’s making T-shirts._ ”

“I hate you all.”

“ _No you don’t._ ”

And no, he doesn’t.

* * *

 

> **The Benefits of Favours Owed From High School  
> ** Posted **11 hours ago** by **TheTokenMinority**
> 
> _In which I talk rebellion, record deals, and Blaine Anderson._

**illuminatemyface** New TKM vid! Aw Yisssssssss

 **theyallwantblood** Am I the only one thinking that his crush on Blaine Anderson is kind of adorable?

 **the-token-minority** WHAT CRUSH? I SEE NO CRUSH. WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? HAHAHAHA ME? CRUSH? BLAINE ANDERSON? I EMPHATICALLY DENY EVERYTHING.

* * *

 

There is a track on Blaine’s soon-to-be-released album titled _The Trouble With Baseball_. Out of all the songs that Blaine has written – most of them shaky at best musically – it’s the one that required the least judicious editing when they threw them all into production.

For a long time, Blaine really didn’t want to include it.

 _The Trouble With Baseball_ is as strangely named as it is deeply personal to Blaine. The title just invitesquestions, really, and those aren’t questions that Blaine wants to answer. Ever.

A week after _The Trouble With Baseball_ ’s release – when it is hovering comfortably around the number three spot on the download chart – the question comes up in an interview.

It’s said so _jovially,_ so light-hearted in tone and voice, that it doesn’t seem like a big deal. “So, Blaine, what _is_ the trouble with baseball?”

But Blaine just feels his mouth go dry.

* * *

 

 **Sometimes I Worry About You Guys  
** Posted **1 day ago** by **the-token-minority**

Read the title folks. I _worry._

So remember yesterday when I posted my new video, which, can I just add, included an _exclusive_ tour of Deadbeat Records – Blaine Anderson’s record label – that I was lucky my friend from high school managed to hook me up with. Well, I know some of you do, because you _literally_ haven’t stopped messaging me about it since I posted the video.

But what did you all – my highly intelligent and politically-minded subscribers – want to know? Was it about my views on the continued practice of casual homophobia in the record industry? Or about the frankly ludicrous terms and conditions that a typical contract can include?

No.

As it so happens, the most pressing matter to my subscribers and followers – who I love dearly – was the fact that I had magically switched clothes halfway through the second day of my stay.

What, you asked. Why, you asked. HOW?

And I think I’ve let you all sweat long enough. Unfortunately to all of you guys, though, this isn’t just my tale to tell. I debated a long time about whether or not to post this explanation, but, well, the other player has thrown himself quite decidedly into the public eye in recent times, so I suppose all’s fair.

Here we go, then.

This is the story of how I mysteriously changed clothes, and, more importantly perhaps, Blaine Anderson’s origin story.

Read More

* * *

 

 ** _From:_** _David Is Cooler Than You_  
 **To:** Blaine  
Saw the interview about your song. You OK?

 ** _From:_** _Demon Wes_  
 **To:** Blaine  
Here if you need to talk.

 ** _From:_** _Dad_  
 **To:** Blaine  
Love you, sport. Remember that, ok?

 ** _From:_** _Trent_  
 **To:** Blaine  
This is probably far from the best time, Blaine, but I found something I thought you might want to see. It’s here: [LINK].

* * *

 

Blaine’s phone feels heavy in his hands. He scrolls through the endless texts of support – from Wes, from David, heck, there’s even one from his old cello teacher – and tries not to think about why it all feels so … dense.

Jesse had given Blaine this _look_ – the look he has learned to hate – when Blaine got off air, knees shaking, face paler than pale. Piteous. Like Blaine was … pitiful.

Blaine shakes his head to try and clear the lingering image away.

Instead, Blaine focuses on the text from Trent on his phone. It’s buried in amongst the _sympathy messages_ and is a welcome change of pace. _I found something I thought you might want to see._

Blaine clicks the link.

The screen of Blaine’s phone switches to his web-browser, then to YouTube, and the video slowly starts to load, before—

“Oh my God.”

_The Benefits of Favours Owed From High School_

Staring back at Blaine, from the tiny screen on his phone, is Kurt Hummel, Blaine’s mysterious bathroom saviour, and the guy he hasn’t been able to forget for over four months.

* * *

 

 **blaineslayin** Did I just hear that right?

 **blaineslayin** Did I honestly just hear that right?

 **blaineslayin** Oh God, I think I did.

 **brainanderson** My heart is currently lying on my computer keyboard having been _ripped out of my chest._ Fuck.

 **warblerfangirl** this is like that moment when you discover that wake me up when September ends is about the lead singer’s father dying. fuck.

* * *

 

It’s avoidance, more than anything, Blaine knows, that makes him write the tweet. He doesn’t want to address the other issue – the thing he said _live_ on _national television_ – so he’s just … distracting himself.

Jesse is going to kill him for this, because, yeah, he’s _out,_ but it’s not something that they ever bring up in interviews. He’s out, in the sense that he’s not in the closet, but he’s not going to be painting himself with rainbow stripes and turning up at pride parades any time soon. Much as he and Jesse aren’t _friends,_ he doesn’t want to give the guy a stroke either.

Let it be known to the world that sending a famously – in the sense of internet fame – gay YouTuber a tweet reading, _Hey do you want your clothes back anytime soon?_ is a grade-A way to bring attention to your sexuality.

Blaine uploads the tweet before he can think better of it.

* * *

 

> **Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson  
>  _@Kurt_Eliza Hey do you want your clothes back anytime soon?_

**warblerfangirl** I AM LOSING MY SHIT OVER THIS AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO THINKS THIS SOUNDS LIKE A SEX THING

 **brainanderson** Now there’s a fic prompt if I ever saw one.

 **sixtysecondstobreakmyheart** As much as I want this to be a sex thing, I think it actually has more to do with this post written by the-token-minority relating to this video he made about visiting Deadbeat Records (Blaine’s record company).

 **sixtysecondstobreakmyheart** I’ve changed my mind. It’s a sex thing. #lalala what a beautiful day to be sailing down the nile

* * *

 

_[7 missed calls, JESSE ST. SLAVE DRIVER, 19:05, 19:08, 19:09, 19:11, 19:16, 19:17, 19:20]_

**_From:_** _Jesse St. Slave Driver_  
 **To:** Blaine  
I STG BLAINE IF YOU DO NOT PICK UP YOUR PHONE I AM GOING TO END YOU IN AS PAINFUL A WAY AS I CAN MANAGE

 ** _From:_** _Jesse St. Slave Driver_  
 **To:** Blaine  
I ONCE CARRIED OUT ESPIONAGE ON A SHOW CHOIR BLAINE DO NOT DOUBT MY ABILITY TO DESTROY YOU

_[3 missed calls, JESSE ST. SLAVE DRIVER, 20:00, 20:01, 20:04]_

**_From:_** _Jesse St. Slave Driver_  
 **To:** Blaine  
PICK UP YOUR PHONE

* * *

 

 **The Trouble With Baseball  
** Posted **2 hours ago** by **thepriceoffame**

Blaine Anderson’s instant success in the chart can probably be likened only to that of Katy Perry, when she released her instant smash-hit, _I Kissed A Girl. I Kissed A Girl_ had just the right blend of sensationalism and cute-pop beats to allow it to plough straight to the top of the charts – and stay there.

Compared to that single, _Sixty Second Heartbreak_ is decidedly inoffensive. A break-up song – that was apparently written without a break-up ever having occurred, according to Blaine – at its heart, _Sixty Second Heartbreak_ lacked pretty much all of the sauciness of Katy Perry’s hits. Blaine’s supporters will say that it’s part of his charm – the inherent innocence in what he sings – and I’d have to agree.

 _The Trouble With Baseball_ is nothing like Blaine’s debut single, neither lyrically, nor musically.

Even on the surface, _The Trouble With Baseball_ is dark. Seemingly about slipping under into oblivion, the chorus features such lyrics as ‘don’t fight to float’ and ‘close your eyes for the last time’. The song, however, takes a completely different spin when you add into the actual context of its conception.

Read More

* * *

 

> “ _They give the players bats.”  
>                  -Blaine Anderson_


	5. Who The Fuck Is Kurt E. Hummel?

It’s said so _jovially,_ so light-hearted in tone and voice, that it doesn’t seem like a big deal. “So, Blaine, what _is_ the trouble with baseball?”

But Blaine just feels his mouth go dry.

Tone as level as he can keep it, he says, “They give the players bats.”

* * *

 

**Rule Five: Loose Lips Sink Ships**

_Blaine may have messed up. Really badly._

* * *

 

**INTERVIEW EXTRACT – 11 JUNE 2011, A LITTLE SPOT OF SUNSHINE**

_[Blaine relaxes into a chair, grinning boyishly at the camera as he waits patiently for the screams to die down. He raises a hand in a small wave. The talk show host, Sunshine Corazon smiles indulgently.]_

SUNSHINE: Wow, that’s some volume there. So, as I was saying, welcome to the show, Blaine. It’s great to have you on.

BLAINE: Thanks for having me.

SUNSHINE: So, we’re here to talk about your music, but I don’t think my viewers would forgive me if I didn’t ask after a couple of things that have happened lately in your life. First up, this tweet.

_[On the screen behind Blaine and Sunshine, a picture of the tweet appears. Blaine glances back, something unintelligible crossing over his face when he sees the tweet.]_

BLAINE: Yes, that tweet.

SUNSHINE: So – is there a story there? Am I looking at _[pauses, reads the name off the screen]_ Kurt E. Hummel’s new beau?

BLAINE: If only I were so lucky. No, Kurt and I are just friends. That tweet was kind of an inside joke.

SUNSHINE: So, there’s nothing there?

BLAINE: For me, at the moment, dating isn’t really on the table. I mean, I’m under a lot of scrutiny because of my job and my fans, and I’m _still_ trying to be able to graduate high school by the end of next year…

SUNSHINE: Oh goodness, I’d forgotten that you’re still in school. How do you balance that with your lifestyle?

BLAINE: Exceedingly tolerant teachers, really. I complete a lot of my assignments by correspondence, and sometimes attend lessons via Skype. Really, I’m just lucky that my school has been prepared to work with me to this degree.

* * *

 

_“—I mean, I’m under a lot of scrutiny because of my job and my fans, and I’m still trying to graduate high school by the end of next year…”_

Kurt reaches across Santana for the remote and switches the channel.

“Hey, I was watching that, Shitdick,” Santana says.

They’re stretched out on Kurt’s couch, dressed down in pyjamas and dressing gowns, a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously between them. Kurt scowls at the television screen when he spots the feature running on the next channel.

“Are you kidding me?” he mutters, as a newscaster asks if there is _anything Blaine Anderson can’t do?_ “Is this guy everywhere?”

“Just months ago, _your_ face was the one on all the networks,” Santana points out, raising an eyebrow. “And, trust me, it was far less pleasant to look at than Blanderson’s.”

“My best friend, ladies and gents.”

“Besides,” Santana adds. “They were talking about you, weren’t they? Don’t you want to know what your fuck buddy is saying about you on the airwaves?”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “For the last time, Santana,” he says. “Nothing happened. As you have pointed out _countless times_ ,Blaine is so far beyond ‘out of my league’, I’d have to build a spaceship to travel to a planet to look through a telescope to see how far out of my league he is.”

It’s Santana’s turn to roll her eyes. “First off, I said that two weeks ago; I can’t believe you memorised that,” she says. “Secondly – and if you repeat this, I will deny it – you’re a fucking catch, Hummel. Once you get out of this backwater shithole, you’re going to be having to beat them off with a stick. Or, just beat them off. You know, your choice.”

Kurt looks distinctly unimpressed. “Did you have to be trained to be able to turn everything into an innuendo?”

Santana snorts. “You have to be born this way, baby.”

Kurt nods. “Thought so,” he says seriously. Santana throws a piece of popcorn at him.

“Speaking of Blanderson,” she goes on. “How pissed off was Jesse about the tweet? I remember you ducking out of Cheerio practice to take a call from him.”

“Think Coach Sylvester after she got her funding cut,” Kurt tells Santana. “I thought my eardrum was going to burst with the pitch he was yelling out. It was all, _Why didn’t you tell me you were fucking my client?_ Like we talk about our sex lives all the time.”

“You don’t have a sex life,” Santana states bluntly.

“And if I did, it would be none of his business,” Kurt says. “I know we’re friends, and he did me a huge favour landing me that tour of Deadbeat Records, but…” Kurt trails off shaking his head. “No, just no.”

* * *

 

 **Star-Crossed Lovers? Blaine Anderson Sends Suggestive Tweet to YouTube Celebrity  
** from _tmz.com_

Blaine Anderson’s slippery denials about his relationship status were thrown into question last week, when the singer posted a tweet addressed to a young YouTube star.

Kurt Hummel (TheTokenMinority) is a 17-year old YouTuber from Ohio, whose work against bullying in schools has earned him national recognition. Kurt publically came out quite early in his career, and since then has become one of the most prolific gay men on the internet.

The tweet, which read, “Hey do you want your clothes back anytime soon?” was sent from the famous singer’s account just hours after Blaine made a controversial reveal about the subject matter of his new song, _The Trouble With Baseball,_ arising suspicions that this could be a publicity stunt to deflect attention away from the brewing scandal.

 

> **Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson  
>  _@Kurt_Eliza Hey do you want your clothes back anytime soon?_
> 
> -Above: Is our favourite new pop star in a relationship?

 

Although Blaine has been quick to deny any potential relationship with Kurt, often saying, “If only I were that lucky,” in response to any queries, the question remains: is our favourite star finally in a relationship?

* * *

 

“So,” Burt says. “This Blaine kid.”

“What about him?” Kurt asks as he brutally attacks a carrot with a knife.

“Is there anything you want to talk to me about?” Burt asks pointedly.

Kurt finds himself rolling his eyes again. The topic of Blaine has been doing that to him a lot lately. “In order: no, we are not sleeping together; no, I have not slept with him; yes, I am getting sick of having to explain myself to everyone and anyone who deems it their business.”

Burt holds his arms up in surrender. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he says. “But, Kurt, you can always come and talk to me about your problems. Including the boy related ones.”

Kurt opens his mouth, but the protest dies on his tongue. “Thanks, Dad,” he says, throat dry.

Burt ruffles Kurt’s hair, ignoring the squawk of indignation that Kurt releases at the action. “Just doing my job, Kiddo.”

* * *

 

> **The Trouble With Bathrooms – Hummelson – NC-17  
> ** by **warblerfangirl**
> 
> _Bare minutes before his audition at Deadbeat Records, Blaine Anderson is freaking out. Luckily, a stranger in a bathroom is at hand to help ease the tension._

**blaineslayin** Ladies and gents, Molly has done it again. Everyone bow down to Her Royal Smuttiness.

 **sixtysecondstobreakmyheart** *bows*

 **blanderstan** What I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get over with Molly’s fic is the undeniable thread of emotion that she manages to put into otherwise shameless porn. So, so hot and yet, there’s this promise of _more._ Love, love, love.

 **anummel** we’re so fucking ridiculous, aren’t we, though? one tweet and suddenly, BAM! new OTP. fuck it all.

 **blaineagainstsmoking** from a psychological perspective, though, isn’t it kind of easy to see why we love this ship so much? TKM is pretty much the epitome of a Blaine-stan – he freely admits he has a crush on the guy. TKM is, ironically, the token fan, making this kind of like a fairy tale. You can’t deny that we’re living vicariously through this pairing at least a little bit. And, I mean, come on, who doesn’t love a bit of Fan/Idol in the morning?

 **warblerfangirl** omg how did my fic post turn into a psych eval???????? #kinda proud ngl

* * *

 

“It was a good interview,” Jesse tells Blaine curtly, “but I’m still pissed at you.”

Blaine exhales deeply. “I know,” he says. “You seem to be unable to go so much as two minutes without telling me.”

Jesse tightens his tie, blatantly ignoring Blaine’s comment. “We’re on a flight back to Ohio tomorrow,” he reports, burying his face in his iPhone. “Dalton called – you can’t graduate next year if you don’t sit their end-of-year exams.”

Blaine nods. “I’ll pack my textbooks in my carry-on. What do we have after that?”

“A few weeks downtime, actually,” Jesse tells him without looking up from his schedule. “Deadbeat’s bigwigs are worried about you burning out before you start doing gigs in August. Worst you’re looking at is the occasional interview, but you won’t be leaving Ohio for that. Deadbeat are going to release a few more of your singles – _Date and Switch_ and _Battlefield_ – before they drop the album.”

“That’s all in July, though, right?” Blaine clarifies.

“Right,” Jesse nods. “Now, Superstar Who I’m Still Pissed At, get some shut-eye. Flying always knocks you out and I’m not carting your zombie-ass around Ohio with my current pay-cheque.”

Blaine smiles charmingly, earning him a look of exasperation from Jesse.

“Don’t even with me,” Jesse says.

Blaine shrugs. “What time’s the flight?”

“Ten in the morning,” Jesse says. “Now, _bed_.”

* * *

 

 **Who The Fuck Is Kurt E. Hummel?  
** Posted **16 hours ago** by **theyallwantblood**

Things in the Blaine Anderson fandom have been pretty fucking crazy recently. And by that, I mean, FUCKING BATSHIT INSANE. And yes, those capitals are very much necessary, thank you very much.

The prime question y’all seem to want to know the answer to is, by popular vote…

_…BUT WHO IS THIS KURT GUY ARE THEY FUCKING OMG????_

_…@KURT_ELIZA I AM COMING FOR YOU WHO ARE YOU!?_

_…Okay, who the fuck is Kurt E. Hummel?_

Well, as someone who is lucky enough to be both a Blaine Anderson fan and a Kurt Hummel fan ( ~~which makes hummelson, like, my ideal pairing purely from a logical perspective~~ ) allow me to shine some rainbow-coloured light on the situation.

Kurt E. Hummel – and that E. there stands for Elizabeth, in case you were wondering – is better known by his YouTube screen name, TheTokenMinority (the-token-minority over here on tumblr) and is, by all means, a fucking GOD walking on earth.

That’s me speaking objectively, of course.

So, let’s start off with the simple. _What does he look like?_

Well, ladies, gents and non-binaries, Kurt Hummel, looks like this:

image  
image  
image

YES IT IS UNFAIR, NO WE DO NOT KNOW HOW HE DOES IT, CURRENT THEORIES RANGE FROM GENETIC MANIPULATION TO FAIRY-CHANGELING.

Next up: _what does he do?_

Well, last year, he accidentally started a nationwide anti-bullying campaign that even made it to congress. Key word: accidentally. (Ngl it was pretty fucking hilarious to be in the fandom back then because he kept freaking out online about his face being on the news.)

He also wrote and, filmed, and starred in this autobiographical webseries. That link there is to his first webseries, _Stain Removal 101_ , which he created when he was just fourteen years old. Let that sink in for you. At fourteen years old I was laughing at dick jokes. Kurt Hummel was busy becoming internet famous.

ANYWAY, most people know Kurt for this special little thing. That link is for _The Diary of a High School Queerleader,_ which is _Stain Removal 101_ ’s successor and fucking amazing to watch. It’s won awards, people. It’s basically about Kurt’s sophomore year of high school and how he joined the high school cheerleading squad to survive and shit and it’s just fucking awesome. Quality story-telling. (And it’s also fucking autobiographical and it will make you wonder how the fuck this is even anyone’s life and not a program on FOX or shit.)

Oh, and in case you didn’t garner it from the fact he titled one of his webseries _The Diary of a High School Queerleader_ , Kurt Hummel is also gay. Homosexual. Fucks guys. Is fucked by guys. (Or isn’t, you know, because he’s never had a boyfriend, but _still_.)

And lastly, _how does he know Blaine Anderson?_

I shall direct your gazes to this post. It’s Kurt’s account of how he and Blaine met and it is literally the cutest slice of shipper’s wet-dream that I have yet to come across. ~~THEY ARE PRACTICALLY ALREADY STARRING IN A ROMCOM HOW CAN YOU NOT LOVE THIS PAIRING?????~~

And, I’m going to leave you with a picture of Blaine smiling because Blaine smiling makes everything better.

image

* * *

 

Kurt drops down onto the couch, utterly exhausted. Leave it to Coach Sylvester to schedule cheerleading practice _during_ the summer vacation, and leave it to Kurt to skimp on his conditioning the first week off. Practice had been brutal and everythingburns.

_Everything._

When the doorbell rings, Kurt opens his mouth to shout to Finn to get it – he is not moving off this couch for anything less than the apocalypse – before realising that Finn is over at Rachel’s, probably attempting to round third base. Kurt sighs. Whoever it is will have to wait until he regains feeling in his legs.

The doorbell rings again.

Nope. Not moving.

Again.

No, not even considering it.

Again.

Fuck it. Kurt pushes himself off the couch, muscles groaning in protest, and shuffles awkwardly across the hall to the front door. Arms like lead, he unlatches the lock, and throws the door open.

Standing on his doorstep, smiling weakly, is Blaine Anderson. “Hey,” Blaine says.

Kurt feels something catch in his throat. “Hey,” he says back. It sounds lame, even to his own ears.

Blaine quirks an eyebrow – and it does _not_ do things to Kurt’s stomach, _fuck off,_ involuntary bodily reactions – and tilts his head to the side. “Is that all?”

Kurt finds himself rolling his eyes. “No,” he says, and pulls the singer in for a kiss.

 


	6. INTERLUDE: E! Online Had It Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry, this has taken so long to get out. It's not really... I'm not really happy with it, but I wanted to get something up for you folks. It's kind of an entire chapter of exposition, sorry.

It’s not a smooth kiss, by any means. Kurt’s experience is limited to a mortifying make-out session in the locker rooms with Santana – something that, if you ask either of them, _never_ happened – a somewhat less mortifying and substantially less steamy make-out session with Brittany on his couch, and one other kiss that he decidedly does not think about. Even then, Kurt can still tell that he’s by far the most experience kisser in this arrangement.

Which—surprises him, sort of. Not really, though. This is Blaine, after all; he’s never lived up to Kurt’s expectations of him.

They break apart, and Blaine is staring at him with wide eyes. “I was aiming for a hug, or something,” he stammers out.

Kurt shrugs, a smile chipping away at his mouth. “I’ve always been an overachiever,” he says.

“I’ll say,” Blaine breathes.

For a second, Kurt can feel paranoia building in his gut, because what if he overstepped? Worse, what if he misread their Twitter conversations? It’s hard to infer tone from text, but Kurt had thought for sure that Blaine was—

Blaine smiles brilliantly at him. “So,” he says. “I guess _E! Online_ had it right about us.”

Well. That answers that question.

\--

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _I shouldn’t have posted that tweet without your explicit permission. Please accept my sincerest apologies._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _I hate to break it to you, but your ‘sincerest apologies’ are pretty much the most disingenuous piece of shit I have ever heard. Or read. Whatever._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _I’ll be frank with you. I didn’t ask for this. Is this revenge for the fact I posted the bathroom story on tumblr?_

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _What? Bathroom story? You put that online?_

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _And, no. This isn’t about revenge. It’s honestly just me screwing up. None of this was ever my intention._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM) _  
And right now, I’m trying not to screw up this apology, but it’s pretty hard not to when I’m trying to field calls from everyone I’ve EVER KNOWN._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _I mean, I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have done that. Is there any way I can make it up to you?_

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _Wow, it’s like they just ripped you straight out of a regency romance, isn’t it? Sincerest apologies, not your intention, yada, yada. I didn’t know people still talked like that._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _Evidently we do._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _I’d gathered. Alright, Mr. Darcy – what would your making this up to me entail?_

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _And I didn’t mean that in a sexual way. Just so we’re clear._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _That’s good, because where I am right now, I’m not legally allowed to have sex yet. I don’t know how you’d want me to make it up to you? Concert tickets?_

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _No amount of concert tickets could make up for the fact that I had to miss cheerleading practice to be shouted at by your manager._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _You’re a cheerleader?!_

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _THAT’S what you take from that?_

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM) _  
You know what? I don’t want to deal with this shit tonight. I’m going to bed._

\--

**From:** Lauren Zizes [lzizes@zizespublicrelations.com]  
 **To:** Jesse St. James [stjames@deadbeatrecords.com]  
 **Subject:** The Holy Fucking Shit They’re Fucking Debacle

‘Sup St. James,

So, I looked over your teenie-boppers screw up and all in all, it could be a lot worse. If you had to have Plain Anderson be fucking a guy – Kurt Hummel is honestly not that bad a choice. He’s the face of some anti-bullying movement thing that he launched last year, the YouTube community’s Boy-Who-Lived equivalent, and the darling of Tumblr.

It shouldn’t be too hard to explain it all away. Hummel posted a video detailing his and Blaine’s meeting about a week-ish before any of Anderson’s twitter mishap shit hit the proverbial fan, so run with that as your basis. Maybe add in something about them being good friends, kept in contact since, yada yada. You’re still gonna have a bunch of blogs out there dedicated to their relationship, but so long as Hummel keeps his jaw jammed, we should be in the clear.

Get Blaine doing some interviews pronto – start of small-deal, maybe that talk show with the Filipina girl? Sunshine’s pretty easy-going on her guests. A few other appearances, but nothing major – this isn’t a big deal. Don’t try and make like it is.

I’ve sent accounting my bill.

Pleasure as always, St. James,

Zizes

\--

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _So, you said something about an apology?_

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _Yeah. I did. I am truly sorry, Kurt. You kind of… Well, I wouldn’t be where I am today without you._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _It’s fine, Blaine. I was being an ass last night. You screwed up. We all do it._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _Honestly, I’m more worried for your career than my peace. I don’t know if you knew, but I’m kind of the internet’s token gay kid._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _I happen to have a team of highly paid, overqualified professionals to deal with my career. I’ll be fine._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _Yeah, well, for someone who may be trying to fly under the radar re: sexuality, I’m not really the best choice of boyfriend. Loud, some would say._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _Shoving it down their throats, others would say._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _And what would you say?_

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _I won’t apologise for who I am and fuck anyone who has a problem with that. But I understand that that sort of attitude isn’t for everyone._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _You’re so much more than a boy in a bathroom, aren’t you?_

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _I could say the same to you._

\--

**_From:_** _Demon Wes_  
 **To:** Blaine  
OK, OK, OK, let me get this straight. Before your audition you met this guy in a bathroom. (Which, David would like to point out, sounds like the start of a gay porno, and I have to agree with him.) You had a full-on Nicolas Sparks moment, boom clap the sound of your heart, and you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him.

**_From:_** _Demon Wes_  
 **To:** Blaine  
Then, out of the blue, you find out that this guy is a famous youtuber, and decide that the best way to reconnect with him is to send him a sexually suggestive tweet that sends the media into a frenzy.

**_From:_** _Blaine_  
 **To:** Demon Wes  
Pretty much.

**_From:_** _Demon Wes_  
 **To:** Blaine  
How to put this kindly… Are you even thinking at all lately?

**_From:_** _Blaine_  
 **To:** Demon Wes  
Probably not. What do I do, Wes?

**_From:_** _Demon Wes_  
 **To:** Blaine  
Have you tried apologising?

**_From:_** _Blaine_  
 **To:** Demon Wes  
Have you met me? That was the first thing I did. He called my apology a load of disingenuous shit.

**_From:_** _Demon Wes_  
 **To:** Blaine  
I like him already. He lives in Ohio, right? I could totally drive to meet him.

**_From:_** _Blaine_  
 **To:** Demon Wes  
WES, NO.

\--

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _Kill me now. Is it possible to bruise your vocal chords?_

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _I’m sure I’ll find out at some point in the duration of my career. Are you okay?_

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _Yeah. Just not sure whether or not my cheerleading coach is trying to kill me or not. Leaning more towards the former at the moment._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _They can’t be that bad._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _You did show choir, didn’t you? So you must have met Vocal Adrenaline, right?_

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _Yes and yes. VA were crazy intense._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _Well my cheerleading squad is kind of like that._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _Okay, your coach may well be exactly that bad. You have my condolences._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _Much appreciated. So… Have your PR people figured out what they want me to do?_

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAndeson (DM)  
 _What do you mean?_

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _Well, I’m not answering any more calls from Jesse (ow, my eardrums), and I’d kinda like to know what you have in mind for me before I decide what to do._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _Blaine, you there?_

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _Yeah. Just thinking. Jesse seems to be of the opinion that radio silence on your front would be the best way to go._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _Just ignore any comments anyone makes, laugh it off, say we’re friends?_

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _Well, you are the man with the plan. I can do that._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _I also happen to be star-spangled._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _What?_

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _Captain America reference. I’m a massive dork. Don’t worry about it._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _I have to head to bed now – Jesse has me on a full schedule tomorrow. Gargle some Listerine and do the same, okay?_

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _Okay._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _Good night, Blaine._

\--

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza  
 _Fuck this shit._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza  
 _Fuck every last thing in this fucking shithole._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza  
 _I am so sick of people looking at me like I’m worth less than nothing._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza  
 _Like I could catch on fire and all they would say would be, ‘Don’t get burn marks on the carpet.’_

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza  
 _Fuck you all. I am better than you. I am better than all of you._

\--

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _Are you okay? I just saw your tweets._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _I’m fine. Just pissed._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _School sucks, but that’s pretty standard around here. And people are dicks, but then again, so is that._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _Well, screw the dicks._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _That came out wrong._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _And you just made me choke on my own spit. That was kind of exactly what I needed to hear._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _Anything for my accidental boyfriend._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _Accidental boyfriend, huh? I like it._

\--

**_From:_** _Blaine_  
 **To:** Demon Wes  
Drat drat drat drat drat drat drat

**_From:_** _Demon Wes_  
 **To:** Blaine  
Are you having a stroke?

**_From:_** _Blaine_  
 **To:** Demon Wes  
I just called him my accidental boyfriend.

**_From:_** _Demon Wes_  
 **To:** Blaine  
Who, Kurt?

**_From:_** _Blaine_  
 **To:** Demon Wes  
Yes, Kurt. FFS Wes, who else would I be calling my accidental boyfriend?

**_From:_** _Demon Wes_  
 **To:** Blaine  
I can see you’re worked up about this, so I’m not going to comment on the unusual vulgarity in that reply.

**_From:_** _Blaine_  
 **To:** Demon Wes  
HE JUST REPLIED HE JUST REPLIED THIS IS NOT A DRILL

**_From:_** _Demon Wes_  
 **To:** Blaine  
What did he say?

**_From:_** _Blaine_  
 **To:** Demon Wes  
HE SAID HE LIKED IT. WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN????????

**_From:_** _Demon Wes_  
 **To:** Blaine  
I’m going to take a stab in the dark and say that it means he likes it.

**_From:_** _Blaine_  
 **To:** Demon Wes  
NOT HELPING

\--

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _Would you say that we’re friends?_

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _Yes? Is this a trick question?_

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _Kinda._ _I want to ask you a favour, actually, as a friend._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _Okay._ _As a friend._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _Don’t look me up. On the web, that is._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _There are some things about me that everyone knows and I’d rather tell you myself, instead of have you listen to a me from two years ago…_

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _… spill his secrets through tears to the world wide web._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _Of course I won’t._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _It’s not even a question, Kurt._

\--

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza  
 _We’re a rom com waiting to happen. (I want it to happen.)_

\--

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _OHIO HERE I COME!_

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _No, Blaine, you got out! Don’t let the Buckeye State pull you back in!_

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _I get to see my parents, Kurt. Both of them. In the same place. Nothing can tear me down right now, not even Ohio._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _Google tells me you live in Westerville._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _Yeouch. Stalker, much?_

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _It’s not stalking if you don’t have to go past the first page of search results._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _These are the internet stalking rules, Blaine. God, it’s like they taught you nothing at that fancy prep school._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _Not true. I can shine my shoes in sixty seconds flat._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _I can see us going off on a tangent, so I’m going to bring the conversation back to its original purpose._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _You live in Westerville._ _I live in Lima._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _And, as loathe as I am to give my address to strange teenagers on the internet, I want to meet you._

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _What about weird strangers on your phone?_

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson (DM)  
 _Text it to me. (XXX) XXX-XXXX_

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _That was the least smooth way I have ever seen anyone ask for my number._

**Kurt Hummel** @Kurt_Eliza (DM)  
 _But, okay._

\--

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson  
 _For those of you asking, here’s an extract from a song I’ve been working on… (1/2)_

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson  
 _… “This isn’t a love story/ This is a dream/ And I’ve been dreaming of you for far too long.” (2/2)_

**Blaine Anderson** @BlaineAnderson  
 _Nice and fatalistic, am I right?_

\--

_We’re a rom com waiting to happen_ , Kurt had written.

But Kurt has never been good at waiting for change to happen to him, so he grabs Blaine and he _tugs._ He doesn’t believe in luck or chance, so he presses their lips together and closes his eyes and _falls._

And Blaine kisses him back.

_I’ve been dreaming of you for far too long_ , Blaine had written.

But Blaine has never been able to lie to himself, so he fights to stay in the moment, stay pressed to Kurt. He says, “I guess _E! Online_ had it right about us.”

And Kurt’s answering smile is everything.


End file.
